You and Sammy
by zanybeanstalk
Summary: Sam just got back from a job, leaving Dean to clean up. He's all bruised up, and something has happened. You've felt the attraction before, but now Sam is acting on it. NO PLOT, JUST SEXYTIMES
1. Chapter 1- Back From the Hunt

Sam walks into the dark motel room purposefully, and you can tell it's him immediately from his enormousness.

"Sam!" you yelp joyfully. He's back safe from the job. Then, "Oof!" as he pulls you in for an unexpectedly intimate hug, crushing you against his chest. You squirm and ask, "Sam?" and after pulling away and flicking on the light, "Oh my god, your face!"

_Purple bruised cover the right side of his face, and his right eye is swollen shut. The left_ side is peppered with nicks, and blood is beading on his lip from a cut.

You step closer again and cradle his head with you hand, careful not to touch the injuries, but Sam nuzzles his face into your palm, closing his eyes against your horrified stare.

"Dean let this happen?" you're angry now. "Where is he?"

Sam chuckles at your fire. "Finishing the job." His eyes open with that puppy-dog look. "I'm ok!" he insists when you give him a suspicious glare in response, laughing a little. But your thumb brushes the bruise at his temple and he winces.

"Oh, _Sam_." You whisper, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He softens, reaching out and winding a lock of your hair around his fingers, then gently skims a knuckle over your cheek. You blush. He's never been so… close. So vulnerable.

"I missed you." His voice is low and husky.

"You weren't gone that long." _Is he looking at your lips?_

"Longer than you know."

And suddenly his large hands grip your waist, and your eyes widen as he leans in and presses his lips to yours. You let out a breathy sigh as his mouth moved against yours, so slow and soft. They taste like blood.

"You're bleeding," you say in a low voice, breaking the kiss. He doesn't let you go.

"I'm always bleeding."

And he's back, fiercer this time, pushing you up against the wall. You gasp at his desperateness, an ache building in your chest. Your hands fly to his neck, holding it as you mash your mouth against his, panting. His fingertips skim the skin underneath your t-shirt, sending tingling from your waist all through your body.

"Sam!" you growl as he rubs against you, kissing with whole his body. His mouth moves to your jaw, though he has to practically bend over to get there. His hands move up father, and you have a second of clarity to think, _this is really happening!_ "Just take off the goddam shirt!"

He pulls it over your head, then goes back to nuzzling your neck as his hands travel. Finally he is holding you by the sides of your chest, thumb brushing over your breasts.

"Bed!" you gasp, and jump to lock your legs around his waist. His hands grab your ass to hold you there, and his lips are on yours again. He half-falls onto the mattress, kicking off his shoes as he goes, and shoves you against the pillows, straddling you lap, pinning you down. He sits back as he unhooks your bra, and you lay there for a moment, staring at each other, because once the bra comes off, your friendship is over, and something new will begin. You reach up and grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him down. Then you place a small, tender kiss on the right side of his mouth, avoiding the cracked split. He presses his forehead against yours and you push your fingers through his hair with a smile.

And he throws your bra over his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2- Girl Interupted

Sam presses his lips to yours and kisses you slowly; hands cupped at your neck, but then let them slide down over your shoulders and collarbones, fingers trailing over your skin, giving you goose bumps. Finally he reached your breasts, gently massaging.

"Oh, Sam. Ohhh." He pinches and pulls and you can feel his smirk. He likes the noises you make; you can tell by the erection pressing against your thigh.

Sam shimmies down, pressing kisses against your skin. You shiver as his hands ghost back down your sides. He nuzzles against your cleavage, and you have to smile. His life had made him a weary, serious man, but sometimes that goofy guy you'd met so long ago shines through. Though never before like _this, _of course.

You play with the shaggy hair at the back of his neck as his fingers reach the button on your jeans. You let him yank the off, and he lets his lips drift just over the waistband of your underwear after moving even farther down. You grip the sheets as he teases, grazing your thigh with his teeth, then pushing his large hands between them and spreading your legs. You whimper as he kissed the ticklish flesh on the inside on your upped thigh, an uncomfortable dampness appearing from your aching center. His tongue flicks out and you give a helpless yelp, reaching your hand down to touch yourself, since he won't. But he grabs your hand and holds it down, looking up from between your legs to give you a sexy, but silly grin.

"Stop it Sam," you beg, and he complies, pressing two fingers against the wet folds and begins to rub circles that make you arch your back and moan. "Ohhhhh Sam. Oohhh god!" He presses harder and quickens the circles, and you gasp, clenching and trying to resist the urge to shut your legs, to pin his fingers against your opening. Instead you spread wider, rolling your hips and thrusting against his hand. "Ahhh!"

"Oh fuck!"

Sam's fingers disappear and you scream as you realize that Dean is in the doorway. You grab the covers and dive underneath as you hear the two brothers begin a shouting match.

"You weren't supposed to be back!"

"You should have told me to get my own room!"

"It just happened, it wasn't planned!"

Through your humiliation, you have to appreciate the way Sam's voice drops about a thousand octaves to a deep, throaty tone when he's angry. Dean just sounds plain embarrassed.

"Sock on the door, man!"

"How 'bout a knock?!"

"I-I'm gonna go sleep in the impala."

The door slams and you peek out. Dean is gone, and Sam's face is buried in his hands. You sit up and reach for your shirt.

"We're done then?" sighs Sam.

"Oh yeah."

You run to the bathroom, still mortified. You sit on the toilet seat, taking deep breaths. _Oh lord. _

Sam knocks hesitantly. "We should talk."

You take another deep breath and let your eyes wander absently over the crumby motel décor, then open the door. Sam's face still makes you shudder; the cuts and bruises look awful. You let your head fall onto his chest, but otherwise don't touch him. He rests his lips against your hair and inhales quietly though his nose. Taking in your scent.

"Not right now. Please." You feel his nod.

You flip off the light and walk to Dean's bed (you'd been sleeping in a cot, but he isn't using it tonight). You lay on your side, facing the wall. There are sounds of Sam getting ready for bed- teeth brushing, feet padding around on the tiled bathroom floor. Then the creak and rustle of his sheets and bedframe.

"Don't you dare masturbate," you joke awkwardly, trying to break the tension that might only be in your head. When he doesn't respond, you roll over and look at him. It's dark, but in the dim light from the motel sign you can see his miserable expression. After a moment of contemplation, you get up and silently walk across the thick carpet. "Sam, scooch." He looks over his shoulder, surprised, but shuffles to make room on his small bed. There's barely any room, but you manage to curl against him, soaking up his body heat from behind.

Tonight, you're the big spoon.


	3. Chapter 3- Moose

Sam is gone when you wake up. He and Dean are off to check on the hunters they'd been working with, and wouldn't be back for hours. You decide to do some shopping. Dean only ever buys pie and cheap booze, and Sam barely even remembers to eat, let alone go out of his way to pick up groceries.

The idea of sitting alone in the empty motel room isn't appealing, so you purchase a movie ticket and hop rooms until you've seen most of what the small town theater is showing. It's almost ten when you get back, and the impala isn't parked outside.

Sam is sitting at the small round table, and he looks up sharply when you walk in. His eyes are wet, and he begins to wipe his hands over his face to dry them away.

"Hey, um, hey."

"Sam?"

You walk over and crouch down, taking his hands. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, looking up to avoid eye contact, a tortured, fake smile curving his lips. "Nothing."

"Sam." You sit down on his lap so that your knees are around his waist. "Sammy."

"I-"

Tears are still pooling, but he takes deep, shaky breaths, unable to continue. You run your hands over his cheeks, rough with stubble, until you're cradling his face. You lean in and press a tiny kiss on his lips, then on his jaw, then his neck, letting one hand slide into his hair as you find a sweet spot that makes him tilt his head to expose more of this throat, while your other hand slides down and presses against his solid chest. He takes a fluttery breath.

"Tell me," you insist, intending to pause for just a moment, but he gently pulls you off. His voice is stronger now, but still husky.

"We can't."

"What?"

"Do this."

"Sam."

"The people that I care about have a bad habit of dying." You blink, stunned at the bluntness of the comment. He looks up, down, anywhere but into your eyes.

"You think I'm gonna die?"

"If you don't get out of my life, you will. And I won't let that happen."

You narrow your eyes. "You can just tell me if you're not attracted to me."

He laughs incredulously. "I'm serious!" That sad, puppydog look is back as he grabs your face and says, "Death follows me wherever I go."

"No. You follow death." He frowns. "Think about it. You and Dean go looking for trouble, like you believe you're destined to kill all the monsters. And guess what, Sam? There will never be a world without monsters! So stop pretending that the fact that you seek out danger isn't your fault, and it's your duty or some crap! You deserve a live, Sam Winchester. A life that doesn't involve blood, or beatings," your fingers brush the cuts on his face, "or fear that your loved ones are going to die!"

He kissed you. Passionately. He pulls you against him, like he can't get enough, and pants against your burning lips. You move your hips, grinding against his lap as if you can rub right through his jeans. "Sock!" you gasp against his mouth. "Door!"

He stands up awkwardly and you hang on, refusing to break contact. He shuffles to the door and opens it just wide enough to hang a Do-Not-Disturb sign on the outside.

From then on, it's like the love scene from The Notebook. You make quick work of each other's clothes and get right to it. He drops on you with the force and stamina of a wild animal, a moose maybe. The thought makes you laugh through your moans and he laughs too, that true laugh that you haven't heard in years.

After the second orgasm, he collapses on top of you, breathless and grinning like a teenager. "Did, did you call me Moose?" You snort and push him off. He flops completely backward so that his head and shoulders hang off the back of the bed. You climb onto him, pressing your sweaty palms against his glistening bare chest, but he groans and covers his eyes with his elbow. "SO tired!"

"Fiiiiiine." You roll your eyes playfully. "_I _am going to take a shower while you put some pants on, and then we can sleep."

He bolts up and you tumble backwards into the pillows. "A shower?"

I let my eyelids droop lustfully. "A sudsy one."

"Can I come?"

You burst into a fit of laughs at his eager, earnest look.


	4. Chapter 4- The Shower Scene

Somehow, this is more intimate than sex. This is quiet, simple. Sam is almost reverent as he steps into the shower. Your back is turned, and you can't help but shiver a little as his arms wrap about you. His head drops to your shoulder, letting the water turn his hair darker brown in streaks as he presses his lips to your neck. You lift one hand up and back to ruffle his hair and then bend to pick up the shampoo bottle, exaggeratedly slowly so that your ass presses excitingly against his nether reigns. Then you turn and offer it to Sam innocently.

Sam eagerly upends the black bottle over your head and you giggle as a deluge of soapy liquid pours over your scalp. Sam begins to massage it, turning your hair into a white, slicked back mess. You mold his as well, giving him a sudsy Mohawk. His natural laugh, all teeth and squint eyes, is infectious. This entertains you two for some time, dissolving into foamy messes more intent on having fun that getting clean.

Sam's laugh fades, and he just looks at you, a small smile dancing on his lips.

"What?"

"I like you." His hands slip tenderly down your face and neck, and you spontaneously push forward and hug his around the waist, pressing your cheek against his peck.

"Nerd."

"Wo-how!" you love how he says 'wow.' "Nice."

"Mmm," you purr, kissing his chest hungrily, then his throat. His whole body swells with the steadying breath he takes as you nibble his jaw. "You still tired?"

"Umm," he blusters.

You slide down onto your knees, letting your slippery hands trail over his body as you go, tracing the v between his hips with your index fingers.

"Hmm!" a desperate little noise.

"Sammy," you breathe. Your hands slip over his hips and down to his thighs. You look up and grin crookedly. "Me too."

"What?!" he yelps as you stand back up and begin your shower for real, rinsing out the shampoo.

"You used _way_ too much," you comment nonchalantly as you pick up the conditioner. "I'll have to pick more up tomorrow."

Sam grabs you by the waist and spins you around, kissing you roughly on the lips. You hold onto the conditioner, but hitch your leg up over his hip, grinding vertically. "Not in here!" you gasp. "We'll slip and die!"

Sam hoists you up and steps out of the shower, then sets you down on the edge of the sink.


	5. Chapter 5- Destiel in the Bunker

The next few days are a whirlwind. Cas is back in town, so he is always hovering about, trailing after Dean like a lost puppy. You and Sam have many secret hot and heavy make out sessions whenever you get the time, which is whenever the others are gone.

It's time to relocate, and since you're sorta a member of Team Free Will now, you're headed back to the bunker too. It's a three day road trip crammed in the backseat of the impala with Cas, who could fly but apparently has decided to stick around.

Once you're there, Dean is ready for a nap, and Cas isn't letting him out of his sight, so you and Sam have a moment alone. He pulls you into his arms, leaning against the impala.

"So you're moving in."

You tease the hair at the nape of his neck. "Is that ok?"

He catches your lips for a quick kiss, but can't stop and has to then dive in for a few savoring smooches. "Of course."

…

"Stop staring, Cas."

Cas blinks for the first time in five minutes and glances away. Sam rubs his thumb over your knuckles and gives you a goofy grin before biting into his sandwich.

"You haven't tasted it yet," the angel says insistently.

"I promise I will eat it. Now please go away."

He's gone with a faintly indignant whoosh of wings.

Sam reaches out and plays with a strand of your hair, then tugs you closer. You brush his stubbly cheeks with your fingertips and he closes his eyes blissfully.

"Nerd," you whisper.

He answers with a nibbling kiss. He knows you mean 'I love you.'

…

One gray Sunday afternoon, you run out of clean laundry and decide to ask Dean if he has anything quarters for the laundry mat. You open the door without thinking to knock.

"Hhhh!"

Dean is up against the wall, head thrown back, fists full of Cas' hair as he presses the angel's face between his legs.

"Ah!" Dean screeches, pushing Cas away and trying to zip up. "Get out!"

You fling yourself out of the room, slamming the door behind you and make a break for it. But Dean is wrestling you to a stop before you can make it out of the bunker.

"You cannot tell Sam!" he shouts. "NO!"

"Lemme go!" you yell back, and he lets you stumble forward. You whirl to face him, both of your faces red with embarrassment. And then you grin. "I KNEW IT!" Dean glares as you cackle. "You and Castiel! Ha! I _KNEWWWW_ IT!"

"You won't tell Sam, right?" he pleads.

"No," you giggle breathlessly. "No, but I- you- I knew it!"

"Son of a bitch," cusses Dean to no one in particular.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam appears from his room to see you bent over, wheezing, and Dean as red as a tomato. "Did he try something? Dean? I swear to god-"

"Nothing happened," his older brother growled, and stomped back to his room.

You still haven't stopped laughing.


End file.
